Loss–Cold and Angry

The door slammed behind her angrily, pushed by the bullying wind. It tore at her clothes violently, a jungle cat mauling its prey. The slam of the door echoed through the empty streets, testifying to its lone inhabitant, a preacher in an empty sanctuary. The wind howled viciously through the deserted, predawn streets, screaming at her like a furious spouse. It shoved the sounds of the highway at her; the blaring of car horns, the speeding wheels on cracked pavement, the deafening music to keep the driver awake. The wind changed directions, attacking her from a different angle. It was less agitated, and half-heartedly picked up the fallen leaves, tossing them aside like crumpled ideas. It was slower then, an apology for the roughness it caused—before rushing back into the threatening howl.

She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to expose her. Two years had passed since the day in the hospital, seeing the sheet pulled over his cold face. She sat hard on the derelict front porch, once a sunshine yellow that had been worn into gray. She still felt the ache for his presence, the insatiable need for his voice whispering her name. The wind fell, soothing her ruffled hair, trying to wipe the tears away.
It twined around her body in an embrace, trying to squeeze the sadness out of her. She almost smiled at its efforts, but buried her face in her hands against the tears that came once more. The moon, silent and cold, stood as a sentry in the sky, illuminating everything that the clouds didn’t shadow. It was nearly winter, and she pulled the sweater closer in an attempt to ward it off. The wind tried to warm her, but it only made it worse.
She’d met him on a chilly night like this. It’d been cold, the very beginnings of winter starting to creep close when she’d seen him. Walking on the dark street like her; alone like her. Her resistance crumpled, and she wailed broken-heartedly, releasing the sorrow she’d been holding in. The wind became agitated, weeping with her, begging her to stop. It held her face gently, whispering at her comfortingly. Eventually, the tears ceased, but the ache remained, gnawing at her like a carrion crow.
She sat there for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating fate. The same disease that killed her love now afflicted her. She nearly smiled at the irony. She didn’t have much time left. She turned in on herself, laid down on the gray wood of the porch and closed her eyes. The wind was slow, howling like a dying beast. It was sorrowful as it fell, a breathless carcass at her feet.

Loss–Cold and Angry

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